


Impossible Choices

by zibal_01



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 02:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zibal_01/pseuds/zibal_01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is an FBI officer, Rodney a detective.  They meet on a case.</p><p>Originally written for "SGA Reverse Big Bang" on Dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible Choices

** Impossible Choices **

Interrogation Room 1

Rodney's Point of View

Detective Rodney McKay sighed as he stood outside the interrogation room door.  He had interrogated suspects in this very room dozens, hell hundreds, of times, but it had never been as personal as it was this time.

McKay leant his forehead against the door, trying to decide upon his next move.  His options were limited, choices few.  He needed to buy time for both himself and his suspect, so that they could figure out what they were going to do.  Straightening himself up, McKay turned from the door, heading for the adjacent observation room instead.

The observation room was empty as McKay had instructed.  He did not want anyone witnessing his interview with their suspect; did not want anyone to realise that he was personally involved with their suspect.  He smiled to himself, sadly, and shook his head.

Their suspect was an FBI Special Agent by the name of John Sheppard.  McKay had first met Sheppard two years previously, at a crime scene.  His first impression of the man had not been favourable, but he had proven to be a capable agent.  Until now.

McKay thumbed through the file in his hands.  Four triple homicides, evenly spaced within the past two years.  Looking at the crime scene photographs, McKay could not believe that his mild mannered partner could have had anything to do with the crimes, but all the evidence pointed towards him.

Closing the file, McKay ran a hand through his hair, pondering how he could handle the interview.  Did he go in and play it hard?  Or, did he go easy in the hope that something turned up which drew suspicion away from Sheppard.

He turned his attention to the one-way glass between the observation room and the interrogation room.  McKay wasn't sure how long he could leave Sheppard before he had to go in; he needed time to observe Sheppard, to witness how he reacted to being held, to see if leaving him would rattle him.

McKay pulled up a chair.  This could take some time, so he decided he may as well be comfortable.

John's Point of View

FBI Special Agent John Sheppard glanced over his shoulder as the door closed.  Like McKay, Sheppard was familiar with interrogation rooms although, unlike McKay, he was not familiar with this particular one, or with being a suspect.

Unconcerned by his current predicament, Sheppard sat himself at the desk in the centre of the room.  Relaxing, he stretched out his long legs, placing his feet on the desk.  He entwined his fingers, placing them behind his head, the epitome of coolness.

Sheppard gazed at his reflection in the one-way glass.  He knew there was an observation room on the other side, but, he was unaware whether or not it was occupied.  He was also unaware that he was gazing directly into McKay's eyes.

Time became a non-entity for Sheppard, the only evidence of it passing being the minutely click of the flip clock turning over.

He waited, and waited.  Eventually, the silence got too much for him.  Lifting his feet off the desk, Sheppard pushed himself upright.  Staring at his feet, he placed a hand on his hip, and ran the other through his dark, tousled hair, and sighed.  He knew they were trying to rattle him - hell, he had used the same tactics himself.

Sheppard paced the room, trying to work out his own tactics for when they finally came to interview him.  He was innocent of any wrong-doing as far as he was concerned, but would the Police Department see it that way.  Twelve homicides were twelve homicides, but he had been ordered to kill them - orders from high above his pay-grade, with strict instructions that he tell no-one about them.  He asked himself if the victims really counted.  Had he completed the appropriate paperwork, he could have used self-defence in the line of duty, but it was a bit late for that now, and he had been "advised" that there had to be no paperwork filed for this particular mission.  The only way out of this was, well to either not be charged or to be found not guilty...

He was turning this over in his mind when the door opened.  Sheppard was not surprised to see that the detective interviewing him was McKay.  What did surprise him was that McKay was alone.  Their eyes met... 

The Interview: Part One

"Take a seat, Agent Sheppard," McKay instructed.  John's gaze bore into Rodney as he tried to decide whether or not to sit.  A part of him, the very large part that did not respond well to authority, resisted the instruction, but the small voice of reason told him that it was better to co-operate on the small things and leave the rebellion for when it really mattered.  He sat; McKay counted that as a small victory.

"What's going on, Rodney?" John asked softly.

McKay sighed.  He knew how difficult this was going to be, but he had not expected John to act so naïve.  "John, you know what this is about," he shook his head.  "Tell me what happened..."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Rodney."

Rodney slammed the file onto the desk in front of John, then stood behind him.  "Open it."  John looked at the file, but made no move to open it.  "I said open it!"  Rodney barked.

John reluctantly opened the file, knowing what he would find; witness statements placing him at the scene of the last triple homicide; photographs of all four crime scenes which the Police Department had connected by methodology; ballistics reports; forensic reports; and victim profiles.

He flicked through the file, wondering exactly what Rodney was expecting him to say... how he was expecting him to react.  Glancing at Rodney, John closed the file and waited.  Rodney walked around the desk and sat opposite John.

"Talk to me, John."  John looked at the one-way glass.  Rodney glanced over his shoulder at it, then turned back to John.  "There's no-one in there, John.  I'm not recording this interview, which is a breach of protocol, as you well know, but I need to talk to you before this goes any further."

"I've nothing to say, Rodney," John commented.  "You seem to have me tried and convicted already."

Rodney opened the file, pulling out the witness statements, "Five witnesses place you at the scene; ballistics tie your weapon to all the slugs found in the victims - all twelve victims," he sighed.  "The evidence is pretty damning, John.  I want to help you, find a loophole, get you out of here..."

"What do you mean?"

"For god's sake, John, I really don't want you to spend the rest of your life in prison.  I want to get you out of here, but I need your help to do it."

"Rodney," John's eyes met Rodney's.  "I can't tell you... I really wish I could."  John dropped his eyes, then buried his head in his hands.

"Please, John, tell me something... anything..." Rodney looked thoughtful.  "The crime scene... the first time we met..."

John's head sprang up, surprise etched on his features, sorrow in his eyes, "I was following orders..." 

First Interlude

The First Crime Scene

Detective Rodney McKay stood in the pouring rain at, yet another, crime scene.  He surveyed the onlookers, held back by the flimsy yellow police tape.  He could not understand why they stood in the rain when they didn't have to, and couldn't actually see anything.  He shook his head and turned back to the victims.

"Zelenka," McKay barked, "what have we got?"

"Three victims," Zelenka replied, "all of middle-Eastern origin, all double tapped in the chest," he pushed his glasses back into position before continuing.  "Looks like a professional hit..."

Rodney crouched beside the bodies, examining the entry wounds.  He glanced around, "Did we find any shell cases?"

"Umm...," Zelenka checked his notes, "No.  No shell cases were found.  The killer must have cleaned up after himself."

"Exit wounds?"

"The bodies have not been moved yet.  We are still waiting for the Medical Examiner to arrive."

"Photos?  Sketches?"

"Both done."

Rodney nodded approvingly, "Good."  He stood up, glancing back to their audience.  Someone caught his eye - someone he was sure he had seen before.  Frowning, he took a step towards the police tape.  "Let me know when the Medical Examiner arrives," he shouted over his shoulder as he headed to the tape.

By the time McKay had fought his way through the crowd of onlookers, the man had gone.  Rodney sighed.  It was typical.  He was sure he had seen the man before... at another crime scene, but could not place him.  He sighed, turning to return to Zelenka... and there he was, leaning casually against a lamppost.  Rodney crossed over to him.

"Can I help you, detective?"  Rodney ran an eye over him.  He was athletically built, with a head of dark hair and hazel eyes.  His appearance was scruffy - he was in need of a shave, and his suit was rumpled.

"Well, to start with, you can tell me who you are?  And where I've seen you before?" McKay responded.

"FBI Special Agent John Sheppard," he moved his hand cautiously towards his pocket.  "My I.D. is in my pocket..."

"Use your finger and thumb to remove it," McKay instructed.  John proceeded as instructed, removing his I.D. and presenting it to McKay for inspection.

"Satisfied?" Sheppard enquired.

McKay frowned, "For the moment.  I do have some questions for you..."

Sheppard smiled, "Fire away, Officer..."

"McKay.  Detective Rodney McKay," McKay advised.  "First question:  What are you doing here?  It's Police Department jurisdiction, and no-one has invited FBI along."

John shrugged, "I was in the area when I heard about the triple homicide.  Thought I'd come along for a look."

"Seriously?"

"No, I was instructed to come here.  When the powers that be heard about three murder victims, of middle-Eastern origin, in what sounds like a hit, they ordered me here.  Next question?"

"So, you're thinking terrorism?"

"Possibly.  Until we get an I.D. on the victims it's impossible to say."

"Or you already know, and you don't want to tell me?"

John didn't answer.

"Ok, next question," Rodney continued, "Where have I seen you before?"

"Well, we both work in law enforcement, so it's possible that we met at a crime scene at some time."

"No," Rodney shook his head.  "I would remember meeting you..."

"You think I'm memorable?"

"I've seen you, but never been introduced to you," Rodney continued, ignoring John's question.

"So, you've seen me in passing and remembered me?"

"Are you always this modest?"

"Only on days ending with a "Y"," John grinned broadly.  Rodney shook his head, but couldn't prevent the smile from appearing on his face.

"Are you _flirting_ with me, Agent Sheppard?" Rodney sounded incredulous.  John had the decency to blush.

"Look, if you have any more questions for me, you can contact me on any of these numbers," John handed over his business card after writing his home number on the back.  Smiling, he continued, "That's my home number on the back."  Then he winked, turned and left Rodney gaping after him. 

The Card

Rodney placed the business card in his wallet, but no matter how hard he tried he could not forget about it - or the man who had given it to him.  Every time he closed his eyes he saw Sheppard's sparkling eyes and wide smile.

He threw himself into his work, trying to solve his triple homicide, trying to identify his victims, all to try to take his mind off FBI Special Agent John Sheppard.

It took a week for Rodney to finally give in and remove the card from his wallet.  He stared at it for a long time, wondering what calling Sheppard would say about him.  Rodney had never considered himself to be anything other than heterosexual, but, in the week since meeting Sheppard, he had realised that maybe that wasn't the case.  He certainly had unexpected feelings for the other man - feelings that he had only previously had for women.

Eventually he picked up his phone and dialled the number on the reverse. 

The Call

"Sheppard."

"Agent Sheppard, it's Rodney McKay," Rodney started.  "We met at the triple homicide last week..."

John chuckled, "I can remember who you are.  And, please, call me John."

"Mmm, ok, John," Rodney hesitated, unsure of what to say next, so he said the first thing that popped into his head, "Rodney.  You can call me Rodney."

"So, Rodney, what can I do for you?"

"well, you gave me your card, so I... I thought I'd better phone you."

"You didn't have to, but I'm glad you have," John replied.  He knew that making the call would have been extremely difficult for Rodney, so he decided to make things easy for him.  "How's the case coming along?"

Rodney sighed, "Not good.  We've not been able to identify any of the victims.  To be honest, I've been a bit distracted all week, which is why I'm phoning you."

"What's been distracting you?" John asked, full of innocence.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Rodney admitted.  "Every time I closed my eyes I saw your face.  I haven't slept properly, and that's killed my concentration.  Zelenka, my partner, has been worried because I've not been eating properly - that really is out of character for me!"

"What do you want to do about it?"

"Were you flirting with me last week?" Rodney answered John's question with a question of his own.  "You didn't answer me when I asked."

John smiled to himself, "Yeah, I was."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?  Why?"

"Why were you flirting with me?" Rodney asked.  "I just got the impression that you were there to see me, rather than for the crime scene."

"Ok," John spoke softly, "I was there for the crime scene, but I was also hoping to see you.  I've seen you at a few crime scenes, only from a distance, but you always looked so smart, to _together_ that I wanted to meet you."

"But you don't know anything about me.  I could be married, for all you know."

"You're not," John laughed.  "FBI Agent, remember?"

"Have you been checking up on me?"

"Rodney, I just wanted to find out a bit about you before I spoke to you," he shrugged, even though he knew Rodney couldn't see him.  "I... I wanted to find out if I stood a chance."

"And what did you find out?"

"Well, apart from being unmarried, you've only ever gated women, but you've never shown any signs of being homophobic."  John hesitated.  "When you came over to talk to me last week I was watching for your reaction to me and my flirting.  When you didn't lay me out, I thought I would take a chance and give you my business card.  I wanted you to make the decision about seeing me again, which is why I have contacted you."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," Rodney paused.  "So, what happens now?"

"That's entirely up to you, Rodney."

Rodney thought for a few moments.  He didn't know Sheppard, but a part of him wanted to find out more about him, "How about meeting for a drink?" 

The Interview: Part Two

"John, whose orders were you following?" Rodney could see a glimmer of light at the end of the very dark tunnel they were in.

John shook his head, "I really don't know.  I was given my orders by my Assistant Director, Steven Caldwell.  Where they initially came from I have no idea."

"Can you give me details of your conversation with him?  I know it was a couple of years ago, but anything you can remember will help, John."

John lowered his head, chewing on his lower lip pensively.  He, gently, banged his clasped hands on the desk as he thought.  Finally, he looked up, "It was about a month before I met you at the first triple homicide.  I was called to his office," John shrugged.  "I've always been a bit rebellious so it wasn't anything unusual.  When I arrived, Caldwell's secretary sent me straight in.  I should have done a runner then," he shook his head ruefully.

"Why?" Rodney asked.  John's distant look turned puzzled.  "Why should you have done a runner?"

"I never get shown straight in.  He always makes me wait," he gave a small laugh.  "He makes me feel like a naughty schoolboy being summoned by the principal.  But not that day.  That day, he treated me like a friend - even had his secretary bring us both coffee and biscuits."  John stood, stretching.  Rodney could see the tension in John's body as John started to pace.

"Do you want anything?  Coffee?  Water?"

John paused his pacing, "No.  I'm... well, not fine, but I don't want anything, thanks."  He resumes his pacing, running a hand through his hair, "Where was I?" he mumbled.  "We talked for a short time.  It was really weird.  He asked me all sorts of personal questions, really personal, like he was trying to profile me, then, after coffee he gave me my new assignment."  John sat heavily, slumping down in the seat, hands on the desk in front of him.  Rodney reached over, squeezing John's hand reassuringly.  Their eyes met; John smiled weakly.

"What were your orders?"

"I was told I was being seconded to the CIA, that they had a job for me," John sighed.  "I should have realised it was going to turn out like this.  I mean, why would the CIA want a wash out agent like me?  Anyway, I was too stunned to even think about the reasons, or even what my orders entailed.  It wasn't until I left Caldwell's office that I realised what was being asked of me.  And it was too late for me to do anything about it."

"What were your orders?"

"I had orders to kill... "

Second Interlude

The Drink

John glanced at his watch - for the third time in the space of five minutes.  Rodney was late, and John was getting very edgy.  He fidgeted with the label on his beer bottle, picking at the corner, pulling strips off it.

"Is this seat taken?" The voice broke through John's reverie.  He looked up, straight into Rodney's eyes.  His smile lit up the room.

"It is now," John smiled.  "What would you like to drink?"

Rodney sat down, "I'll have a beer, thanks," he managed to croak.  He smiled weakly, knowing his nerves were showing.  Rodney realised that John was also nervous when he noticed the torn strips of label on the table.  "You nervous too?"

John laughed, "Yeah!  Just a little bit."  He glanced away.  When he looked back he had turned serious.  "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," his voice was soft, his tone gentle.

"I nearly didn't," Rodney admitted.

"Second thoughts?"

"Second, third and fourth thoughts," Rodney sighed.  "But I didn't want to let you down by not coming.  Listen, John, I'm not sure if anything is going to come of tonight.  I don't want you to think I'm leading you on if nothing comes of this."

"That's fine, Rodney," John replied sincerely.  "At least you've been honest enough to tell me up front."

The waitress arrived with Rodney's drink, causing a lull in the conversation.  Oblivious to the reason they were meeting, she tried flirting with them.  Her disappointment to their lack of response was almost palpable.  They glanced at her as she left, but that was the most attention they gave her.

"So, how long have you known that you... eh..."

"Like men?" John finished Rodney's question for him.

Rodney blushed, "Yeah, sorry.  I'm new to this... " he waved his hand between them.

"It's ok.  I know it can be daunting the first time you consider the possibility of a relationship with another man," John paused, meeting Rodney's eyes.  "I was twelve when I realised that I liked guys, even had a boyfriend until my dad found out."

"What happened?"

"He beat the crap out of me," John stated matter of factly, "then sent me to a military boarding school.  You'd be amazed how much "experimentation" goes on in those places."

"Really?"

"Yeah!  Think about it," John continued, "all those teenage boys hitting puberty, hormones all over the place, and not a girl in sight.  Happy days..."

"It's difficult for me," Rodney confessed, "realising I have these feeling for another man for the first time at my age.  I feel a bit lost, really.  It's totally changed my self-image."

There was a long silence.  Both men sipped their beers, lost in their own thoughts.  For the first time, John realised how lucky he was to have discovered his sexuality at a young age.  If he'd been in Rodney's position, he had no idea how he would be handling this new revelation about himself. 

Rodney had realised that he was feeling a lot more relaxed.  He had decided that he did actually like John, and wanted to know more - a lot more and a lot more personal.

"John," John broke from his reverie, returning his gaze to Rodney.  "Can I ask you a really personal question?"

"Sure.  Fire away..."

"Did you first sleep with another man or a woman?" Rodney looked apologetic, "Sorry, it's the profiler in me coming out."

"No, it's ok," John reassured.  "It was another man, well boy really.  I take it you studied Psychology?"

"It was my major," Rodney confirmed.  "I minored in Criminology."

"So, what conclusions have you made about me?"

"You're very confident in your personal life, willing to take risks to get what you want.  Some people might call you arrogant, but I wouldn't.  You've accepted who you are and you're comfortable with yourself.  And you don't care what other people think about you," Rodney paused.  "How did I do?"

"That's pretty accurate," John answered.  He smiled, "I'm not going to profile you.  I was a Phys. Ed. Major."

"How did you end up in the FBI?"

"I joined the Army out of college.  Probably not a good choice for someone with my sexual proclivities, but after six years at a military academy, I knew it would be something that I would be good at.  After I was discharged, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.  Eventually, I applied to join the FBI, got accepted to Quantico, and the rest, as they say, is history," John advised.  He fixed Rodney with his sparkling hazel eyes.  "Where do we go from here?"

Rodney smiled, "On a date... "

The Interview: Part Three

Rodney looked shocked, "Orders to kill? Kill who?"

"They never told me who the targets were.  I was given dates, times and places to be, along with pictures of the targets," John rubbed his hands over his face before continuing.  "Four times and places, twelve photographs.  The CIA made it quite clear what the price of failure was, but it looks as though the price of success is much the same."

"My four triple homicides..."

"Yes," John mumbled.

"if we can prove that you were following orders, that the deaths were instructed by a Government Agency, we can get you out of this," Rodney stood, gathering up the file.  As he headed to the door, John spoke.

"There's more, Rodney..." Rodney turned back.  A dark shadow crossed John's face; Rodney returned to his seat, returning the file to the desk.  "I had more orders..."

Rodney wasn't sure he wanted to hear what John had sot say, but he knew he had to.  Steeling himself, he spoke, "Go on..."

"One of the reasons AD Caldwell had asked me so many personal questions was that he was trying to ascertain if I was suitable for the assignment."

"Suitable?  In what way?" Rodney asked.  "I thought you were called to the office to be given the assignment?"

"I was, but they had to check that I was interested in men before I was confirmed as the expendable agent, because that's exactly what I was," John's voice was barely audible.

"You were selected because of your sexuality?  Why did that matter?" Rodney tried to meet John's eye, but John refused.  John dropped his head into his hands.  Rodney's eyes widened as the realisation hit him.  "Me?"

"You," John confirmed.

"You had orders to date me?" Rodney stood, stunned by John's admission.  He started to pace, trying to contain his anger.  "But you didn't even know if I was interested in men."

"My orders were to date the lead police officer so that I could stay close to the case," John mumbled.  "We knew it was going to be a man..."

"How did you know it would be a _gay_ man?  Why select a gay man rather than a woman?"

"I don't know," John sounded frustrated.  "Maybe I was the only expendable agent they had."

"How did you know it would be me?"  When John looked puzzled, Rodney continued, "I saw you at crime scenes before the first triple homicide."

"I attended other crime scenes," John confessed.  "I needed an idea of what I could be getting myself into."

"Did our relationship even mean _anything_  to you?" Rodney slammed his hands on the desk, "Or was it all just "following orders"?"

John looked up at Rodney, the hurt evident in his face, "How could you even think that after everything we've been through?"

Rodney sat back down, "How did it feel using me like that?"

Third Interlude

Popping Rodney's Cherry

Rodney smiled to himself.  He had been dating John for two months now, and he could not remember a time in his life when he had felt happier.  He glanced at his watch.  John would be here soon, and Rodney wanted everything to be perfect.  Tonight was the night.  Rodney was ready.  He was going to ask John to make love to him.  Minutes later, the doorbell rang.

John gasped as he stepped into the room.  The room was softly lit by dozens of candles.  In the centre, stood the dining table.  John smiled, "A romantic dinner for two.  What did I do to deserve this?"

Rodney kissed him gently, "It's not anything you've done.  It's something you're going to do..."  John looked puzzled.  "I'm ready, John.  I want you to make love to me tonight."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Dinner first?"

Rodney shook his head.  Extinguishing the candles, he took John's hand, and led him to the bedroom.

Rodney dimmed the light in the bedroom as John closed the door behind them.  They faced each other, not sure what should happen next, who should make the first move.  After a long moment, John stepped tentatively towards Rodney; Rodney allowed himself to be drawn into John's arms, melting into his embrace.

John tilted Rodney's head, their eyes meeting.  Their lips brushed softly.  John stroked his fingertips down Rodney's cheek; Rodney leant into his touch.

They took it slowly, stripping each other, exploring every inch of freshly exposed skin.  Rodney's body tingled, sensations flooding through him, as John touched him.  His cock was hard and leaking, his physical needs overwhelming him.  He looked at John through lust-darkened eyes.  Reading the look, John reached for the lube that they had left on the bedside table.

Maintaining eye contact, John liberally lubed his fingers, and began playing with Rodney's anus.  The tight ring of muscle offered some resistance as John eased a lubed finger into it.  He rubbed soothing circles on Rodney's abdomen and murmured soothingly as he wiggled his finger, stretching Rodney's muscle.  When he felt Rodney relax, John added a second finger.

Rodney groaned as John scissored the fingers inside him.  Unconsciously, he opened his legs wider, allowing John easier access and opening himself more, making John smile.

John continued stretching Rodney for a long time, ensuring that he was well stretched and well lubricated.  He removed his hand, kissed Rodney deeply, then reached for a condom.

Rodney watched John's movements; watched as he opened the condom wrapper; watched as he rolled it onto his hard cock; watched as he knelt between his legs and lined up his cock with Rodney's anus.  John placed Rodney's legs over his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the man beneath him.

"Are you sure about this?"  John gave Rodney one last chance to back out.  Rodney pulled John's hear, devouring his mouth.  When the kiss broke, Rodney spoke softly.

"Yes, I'm sure."

John's face was a picture of concentration as he gently eased his cock into Rodney's tight hole.  His tousled dark hair flopped over his eyes, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.  Once fully seated, John dropped his head onto Rodney's shoulder, panting heavily.

Rodney felt as though he was being ripped in half as John slowly penetrated him.  He threw his head back, eyes closed tightly, as he willed himself to overcome the pain and remain relaxed.  When John dropped his head, Rodney twined his fingers in his dark hair.  He turned John's head, brushing his lips over John's.  John deepened the kiss, tongue delving into Rodney's mouth, ravishing it.

He started to gently rock his hips as his mouth distracted Rodney.  When Rodney started to rock his hips in time to John's, John relaxed his mouth.  Positioning himself so that he could watch Rodney's expression, John increased the pace and slightly changed his angle.

Rodney's eyes widened in surprise as John struck his prostate.

"Good?" John's eyes were sparkling with delight.

"Oh, god.  Amazing."

John continued his thrusts, slowly increasing his pace, striking Rodney's prostate with every inward stroke.  He could tell that Rodney was close to the edge, hell, he was close himself.  Grasping Rodney's cock, John stroked it in time with his thrusting.

A white light exploded behind Rodney's eyes; his orgasm his him harder than any he had previously experienced; his semen covered his abdomen, mingling with his sweat; and his muscles tightened around John's cock.

John cried out Rodney's name as his orgasm was torn from him.  He collapsed onto Rodney, adding his sweat to the mix.  He was sated and exhausted, but he had never felt happier.  After disposing of the condom, he pulled the duvet over them both, wrapped himself around Rodney, and drifted to sleep... 

The Interview: Part Four

John stared at Rodney, his distress from Rodney's comment evident on his face, "I never used you, Rodney.  I swear it."

"And you expect me to believe you?  After what you've just told me?" Rodney could not hide the disgust from his voice.  "I was just part of your assignment."

"To start with, yes, that's true," john was ashamed of his admission, "but not after the first time we went for a drink together.  I realised that I really did like you, and _wanted_ to have a relationship with you."

"God, I've been such a fool," Rodney mumbled.  "How could I have believed that someone like you would be interested in someone like me?"  Gathering up his file, Rodney stormed out of the interrogation room.  Once he had closed the door behind him, he leant back against it, eyes closed, cursing his own stupidity.  He stood there, trying to work out what to do next.  From his point of view he had limited choices.  Did he believe that John was following orders in connection with the homicides?  If he charged John, would he try to implicate him in the shootings? Did he release him?  When he thought about it, he had one final option.  With that, he walked away.

John sat in the interrogation room with his head in his hands.  He could not believe how he had been manipulated by his bosses; twelve homicides that he could not produce the orders for; a ruined relationship with a man he truly loved; and he had no idea what was going on in Rodney's head.  He knew he had no choices.  All he could do was wait for Rodney to return.  His future was entirely in Rodney's hands.

Rodney returned to the interrogation room.  He entered without hesitation, confident in his decision.  John looked up.  His eyes widened in horror at what he saw in Rodney's hand.  He met Rodney's eyes.  Rodney's eyes were dark, uncompromising.  He placed the gun on the desk, then left.

John sat, looking at the gun.  Rodney had given his the final choice - an impossible choice, a choice between life and death, liberty or incarceration.  His fingers brushed over the cold metal of the barrel, coming to rest on the butt.  He picked it up tentatively, telling from the weight that it was loaded.  John stared at it.  The safety was on; John released it...

Rodney stood outside the door, waiting.  A gunshot rang out.  Rodney walked away...


End file.
